“I don’t know how to let him touch me right now,” I say, and the honesty of it surprises me, how plainly it comes out after so much cloudiness. “I want to. And I also can’t. And I don’t know how to hold both of those things at the same time.”
“That’s a completely reasonable place to be,” Kira says, voice full of empathy. “Your body is doing exactly what it should be doing. It’s protecting you while you process. That doesn’t have to be permanent, but you also don’t have to rush yourself. Healing takes time. That’s perfectly okay.”
“What if it is permanent, though?” I ask, and there it is: the question underneath all the other questions, the one I haven’t said out loud yet. “What if I’m too broken now? What if I’m the kind of damaged that’s not… fixable?”
Kira’s expression shifts, very slightly. Not with pity, but something more like recognition. “Harper, the fact that you can name your fear is evidence that you’re not too broken. The people who are too broken don’t ask the question. They’ve stopped believing the answer matters.”
I look at her.
“You aren’t unfixable,” she says. “You’re a person who survived things she was never supposed to survive, and your brain is doing exactly what brains do after surviving. It’s processing. Rewiring. Brains are amazing that way. They can build a new map from the wreckage of the old one.
“There’s no rush, Harper. You’ve been through immense trauma, and it’s okay to give yourself permission to heal.” She smiles wryly. “I can tell you’re impatient?—”
I roll my eyes. “Is it that obvious?”
She laughs gently and puts a hand on the bed. “Give yourself time. I’ll stop by tomorrow. In the meantime, whenever it feels right, try to take a walk. Go for a swim. Getting your body moving can help loosen your mind.”
She stands up and stupidly, I want to beg her to stay. Being alone in this cocoon of a bed has felt like the only safe place the past couple of days, but now it sounds terrifying to be left alone with just my own mind and all its demons.
“You’ll be back tomorrow?” I double-check, and then immediately feel childish.
She just smiles again, and I’m sure I’m not the first patient who’s wanted to cling to her like a koala after a first breakthrough session.
“Tomorrow.”
After the door closes behind her, I lie there for another twenty minutes, psyching myself up. And then I dare step a foot out of bed.
TWENTY-SIX
HARPER
Two nights later,the pool room is empty when I get there.
I stand in the doorway for a moment. I take in the steam rising off the water and the blue glow from underneath the surface that paints everything in shifting light.
My hand is still warm from the door handle of Caleb’s room, where I stood for two full minutes working up the nerve to knock.
And then didn’t, because my hand wouldn’t do it. My body saidnot like that, not standing at a door like a child waiting to be let in.Or maybe I’m still just a fucking coward, not knowing how to talk to him after my mini breakdown.
So I came here instead.
Kira said I should get some exercise. Her visits over the past few days have helped unscramble things in my head, even if they also leave me feeling raw. So what’s new?
The pool is a long blue rectangle, and the hot tub at the far end churns quietly to itself, steam rising in slow curls toward the ceiling.
I drop my towel on a chair and sit at the pool’s edge. I put my feet in the water and let the heat work up through my ankles into my calves.
I’m only there maybe five minutes before I hear the door push open behind me. I don’t turn around. I’m already attuned to the sound ofhisfootsteps.Caleb. I’ve been listening to them pacing the hardwood through my door all week.
My chest clenches, but it’s not fear. There’s just all sorts of electrical impulses zipping and zapping everywhere along my nerve-endings at knowing he’s here and I’m here and we’re finally alone together for the first time since the shower.
Part of me was hoping to chicken out on the talking-to-him-part for a little longer. I’m not even sure why.
He’s always so careful with me. I hate it sometimes.
Caleb comes to stand at the pool’s edge about six feet from me. I can feel him looking at the side of my face, doing his inventory. Maybe he’s wondering which version of me showed up tonight.
I’ve only said about five words to him this week, and Bruiser was always in the room with us, too.